


What Must Be Shall Be

by sneetchstar



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, One Shot, Smut, Smut and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Lord Montague knows what Benvolio and Rosaline have not yet done in their marriage bed and issues an ultimatum.





	1. Chapter 1

“You have yet to consummate your marriage to the Capulet girl.” Lord Damiano Montague is nothing if not direct.

Benvolio chokes on his wine. He turns his head just in time to avoid spraying his uncle in the face. “What?” he croaks, coughing. It’s the only thing he can think to say.

“I have charged the chambermaids to monitor your bedding and report their findings – or, more accurately, lack of findings – to me,” Lord Montague tersely explains. “You have been married an entire month, Benvolio,” he says, his frown growing deeper by the moment. “I expect you to do your duty to this house and make that maid a Montague. Fully and completely.”

“Uncle, I will not bed an unwilling maiden,” Benvolio says, recovered from his shock and disgust enough to find his voice.

“It is your right as her husband,” Montague retorts.

“I will not force her!” Benvolio shouts.

“You will!” Montague yells, then purses his lips, reining himself in. “I know you do not like the girl, but—”

“I do _respect_ her. And I have no inten—”

“You will or you will find your belongings in the street and the gates closed to you,” Lord Montague coldly says. “As well as my purse.”

“Fine. I am sure Lord Capulet will be willing—”

Montague snorts a laugh. “Silvestro Capulet has no more coin than you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Furthermore, he agrees with me.”

“Excuse me?” Benvolio sputters.

“Capulet understands the need for your marriage to be completely binding. Heirs are needed, Benvolio, and last I heard, there was only one way to bring them about,” Montague says.

Benvolio’s mind reels as he tries to think of ways around this situation. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again to bring his goblet to his lips and down the rest of his wine.

“I am the Lord of this house and I expect you to obey my command,” Lord Montague says, his tone clearly conveying the finality of his statement. The topic is no longer up for discussion.

If it ever was.

Benvolio gets up and leaves the salon, heading for the gardens and some fresh air to clear his head.

xXx

The last person Rosaline was expecting to see in the gardens was her husband. Least of all her husband walking about, muttering to himself and angrily chopping the heads off of roses with his sword.

“My Lord Husband, have the roses caused you some offense?” she calls, her voice loud enough to reach across the small distance to hear him, but light enough so he knows she is teasing.

In the month since their marriage they have reached somewhat of an impasse; almost a truce. They have learned that they do not hate one another, but they would not go so far as to say they _like_ one another.

It’s a start.

“It is not the roses but their owner who has provoked my ire,” Benvolio answers, walking towards her. He pauses and hacks at another rosebush on the way.

“What has he done now?” she asks, knowing exactly to whom he is referring. Two weeks ago, they spent an evening drinking and trading horror stories about their families until they were half drunk and wound up falling asleep together on the bed. It was the first time they actually slept together in their bed, and since then, have done so every night.

Just sleeping.

But if Rosaline happens to wake with Benvolio’s arms around her, so be it. And if Benvolio happens to wake with Rosaline’s head on his shoulder, so be it. But it is never discussed.

Benvolio heaves a great sigh and sheathes his sword. He looks down at her, seated on a stone bench, her face shining in the sunlight, looking expectantly up at him. He doesn’t even consider not telling her the truth; he knows no good will come of it and, in truth, is well aware that his unlikely wife is his only ally in the world right now. “Not here,” he finally says, deciding he’d rather not discuss this out in the open. If his uncle has the chambermaids spying for him, who knows who else is getting a few extra coins to pay closer attention than they should?

“Oh dear,” she replies as her husband grabs her hand and pulls her towards their rooms.

xXx

“ _What?!_ ” Rosaline yells, prompting Benvolio to leap up and clamp his hand over her mouth.

“Shh!” he hisses.

She pries his hand from her face and says, “Sorry. I’m just— what are you doing?” She watches as he begins walking around the room, looking in closets and inspecting the walls and paintings. Then he opens the door and leans out into the corridor, looking right and left.

“Making sure no one is listening in. I would not put it past my uncle to have eyes cut out of the paintings so they can make _certain_ that we—”

“Don’t say it,” she interrupts, holding up her hand.

He slumps down on the chaise lounge that he had been formerly using for his bed. “He’s going to put us on the street if we don’t,” he says.

“My uncle would…” she begins, then stops. “Even if he could afford to take us in, I don’t think I could live under the same roof as my aunt once more,” she quietly says.

He nods once, understanding. “So you know then?”

“About the Capulet’s financial difficulties? Yes. I’m not supposed to know, but I do.” She snorts a small laugh. “I was going to say ‘You would be surprised at how much the servants know,’ but given recent events…”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “I do not have enough saved yet to purchase a home for us,” he volunteers.

“I have some savings, but probably less than you,” she adds, hoping he understands that she would contribute anything she can if it means getting out of this house, where apparently privacy is extremely scarce. “What can we do?”

Benvolio opens his mouth to say something, looking like he has an idea. Then he abruptly changes his mind and closes his mouth.

“What?” Rosaline asks. “You looked like you had a thought.”

“I did, but…”

“Well?”

“Pig’s blood.”

“Pig’s blood,” she repeats, not sure she is following.

He closes his eyes and says, “Sometimes a woman will use pig’s blood to… mask the fact that she is not a virgin on her wedding night.”

“But I _am_ a… oh, I see,” she replies. “How on earth do you know that?”

He opens his eyes, but won’t look at her. “Surely you must know of my reputation,” he answers.

Of course she knows. He was widely known for his carousing in the taverns as well as in the brothels. As far as she knows, he has visited none of these establishments since their wedding.

“You learned it in the brothel,” she softly says.

“That is why I hesitated to speak the idea,” he admits. “I was not sure if you cared to be reminded of… not that it has anything to do with you, but…”

“Benvolio,” she says, and her rare use of his given name causes his head to sharply snap in her direction. “I appreciate that you no longer visit such places since we have been wed.” She isn’t _completely_ certain he hasn’t, but his next words confirm her suspicions.

“I am a man of my word,” he replies, his tone easy but full of conviction. He is telling the truth.

She regards him for a moment, allowing herself see him as a man instead of a Montague, her husband instead of her enemy _. He is just as trapped in this as I am. We should be working with one another, not against._ The thought is sobering. “Where do we get pig’s blood?” she asks.

“Butcher,” he answers.

“Can we risk involving a third party?” she counters.

He softly curses. “I doubt it,” he says with a sigh. “And I am not going to just stab a pig to collect some of its blood.”

“I’d like to open the veins of one of the chambermaids,” Rosaline says in a low voice.

“There’s a thought,” Benvolio agrees. “Or my uncle’s.”

She shakes her head. “We should endeavor _not_ to kill anyone,” she remarks.

He actually laughs at this, then gets that reluctantly thoughtful look on his face again. “What about…?”

“What?” she asks.

“Could you… you know… your monthly…?”

She makes a disgusted face. “And how on earth do you propose I do that? I can’t exactly _collect_ it in a cup and keep it until the time is right. And even if I could, where on earth would I hide such a thing?”

“Why would you need to keep it?”

She rolls her eyes. “If the chambermaids are watching us as closely as your uncle says they are, they will know when I have my monthly,” she explains.

“Oh. Right,” he replies.

They stare at each other for a while again, and Benvolio notices how the afternoon sunlight makes her dark skin glow as though it is lit from within. _She really is quite lovely. She may have the most venomous tongue in all of Verona, but at least she is pleasing to the eye._

“We,” he starts, then sighs. “We could just… comply.” Rosaline’s eyes widen in surprise. “You aren’t as awful as I originally thought… I mean, I’ve grown to… that is to say… you are… good. As wives go… I could do a lot worse.”

“You must be truly out of ideas to resort to speaking such lies,” she replies. Deep down, she somehow knows he is speaking the truth, but she isn’t quite ready to accept it yet.

He looks her in the eyes and says, “We have our differences, but I have never once lied to you, Capulet.”

Her gaze drops to her lap. “I know,” she whispers. “You aren’t terrible either,” she admits, deciding she should reciprocate.

“My goodness, a compliment!” he exclaims, his face alight with amusement. “I’m not certain I even know how to feel right now.”

Rosaline snorts an unladylike laugh, which makes Benvolio laugh, which makes her laugh even more.

She sits beside him on the chaise, taking care to leave several inches of space between them. “I do not think we have any option but to comply,” she says, and all laughter ceases.

He slowly reaches over and warily takes her hand, not sure how she will respond to such a gesture from him. “I am sorry,” he apologizes.

“It isn’t your fault,” she assures him. Then she does something that surprises them both: she turns her hand and laces her fingers through his. “It… it was going to have to happen at some point.”

He nods, staring at their entwined hands, how her long, dark fingers contrast against his pale skin. He likes the way her hand feels in his, and it does something to his insides. “Yes,” he agrees.

“When?” she asks.

He closes his eyes. “Tonight?” As soon as the word is out, he regrets it. He should give her more time to grow accustomed to the idea. “Or—”

“Tonight,” she declares, resolute.

His brave wife.

xXx

The rest of the afternoon and evening manages to drag on, yet evening comes much too soon.

Dinner was a mostly silent affair, especially because Benvolio refused to speak to his uncle and Rosaline spent most of the meal trying not to look at Benvolio. Lady Montague made a few attempts at superficial conversation, mostly with Rosaline, but gave up about halfway through the meal.

It was too early to retire immediately after dinner (nor did the skittish newlyweds wish to), so Rosaline headed for the library with Benvolio following. He didn’t care where he went as long as it was away from Lord and Lady Montague, who retreated to the salon.

“Oh,” Rosaline exclaims when she notices she is not alone.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable,” Benvolio replies, moving past her to inspect a shelf. “It is too dark outside to practice my swordsmanship and I find your company preferable to my uncle’s.”

She waits until he turns around to face her again and then sweeps into a deep curtsey. “You honor me with such praise, my lord,” she sarcastically says, then delicately settles into a chair with a book she has been reading.

He snorts a laugh and selects a book at random. Rosaline looks up and raises an eyebrow at him. “What? I can read.”

“I know you can. But you will not enjoy that book,” she says.

“Oh is that so?”

“It is.”

He sits with a _humph_ and stubbornly opens it.

Five minutes later, he slams it shut, stands, shoves it back into the shelf, then glances back at her. She peeks over the top of her book to see his fingers hovering near another volume, his long fingers dancing, asking the question his mouth will not form. She just barely shakes her head. He moves his hand to another one, waiting.

“The green one,” she sighs, then returns her attention to her book.

She glances up a minute later to see him sitting and opening the book she recommended.

Another twenty minutes pass, and Rosaline cannot take the tension in the room any more. The anticipation, the waiting, with him _right_ there… it is too much. She closes her book. “I will be retiring, my lord,” she says.

Benvolio’s eyes widen and he gapes at her. “Al-already?”

She squares her shoulders. “I should like a bath to… calm my nerves,” she says, her voice wavering at the end.

“Oh.” It is all he can manage. “I will… remain here a while longer then.”

“Thank you,” she replies, then disappears.

xXx

Rosaline soaks until her fingers are pruny and the water is almost cold. Then, unable to stall any further, she beckons the maid, again wondering if she is one of Lord Montague’s spies.

She won’t ask. Even if she were brave enough to do so, she wouldn’t. She has her pride. If she has learned anything living with her shrew of an aunt, it is how to take the high road. She refuses to let them see her upset over this.

“Thank you. That will be all,” she tells the maid once she is dressed in her nightgown. The girl curtseys and exits, leaving Rosaline pacing, waiting.

Waiting for Benvolio. Her husband. Waiting for him to come and deflower her.

_How did this become my life?_

She walks to the window and opens it, looking out over the gardens. At least their rooms have a nice view. She can see the damaged rosebushes below. The fallen blossoms have been cleared, some placed in vases, others thrown because they were too damaged. The moon is nearly full, shining brightly, only partially obscured by a wisp of cloud.

She hears the soft click of the door opening and closing. She hears the bolt being slid into place. She hears the surprisingly soft footfalls of her husband as he nears.

She doesn’t turn around.

“Have you been waiting long?” Benvolio asks, his voice quiet.

“No,” Rosaline answers, still facing the window. “I tarried in the bath as long as I dared, in fact. The water was very nearly cold by the time I got out,” she admits.

He moves closer, unable to help admiring how she is silhouetted in the moonlight. The white linen of her gown billows slightly in the breeze and her dark skin glows alluringly in the silvery light. “You’re going to catch a chill standing in the open window like that,” he says.

“I do not care,” she answers, then stiffens in surprise as his arm comes up beside her and closes the window. She can feel the warmth of his body behind her, and is suddenly aware of how little she has on and how vulnerable she is right now.

“I do,” he replies, dropping his hand.

“Why?” she demands, turning around. “Why do you care if I fall ill? If I died you would be free then to—”

“Free then to be forced into another marriage to another bloody Capulet – your sister, most likely – while _you’ll_ be the one who is truly free because you’ll be _dead_!” he crossly interjects, unintentionally raising his voice. He sees the stricken look on her face and immediately deflates. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to shout. It was… unfair of me.”

“Thank you. But I am quite accustomed being treated unfairly,” she softly responds.

“As am I. Which is why I am sorry,” he explains, turning away. He begins disrobing, shrugging out of his vest, then sitting on a bench at the end of the bed to yank his boots off.

Rosaline is well acquainted with Lord Montague’s treatment of his nephew. “I know. I am sorry, too,” she says, walking over and sitting beside him on the bench. “You… do not deserve to be treated the way he treats you.”

Benvolio looks at her. She is quiet and soft tonight, her hair in a single braid over her shoulder, looking more timid than he’s ever seen her. He finds himself wishing she were being her normal brash self. He isn’t sure how to deal with a meek Rosaline Capulet. He misses her fire. “And you never deserved the treatment you received from your aunt,” he finally says.

“We were – are – both punished for the sin of not being our cousins,” she simply says, and he nods his agreement.

They fall quiet, the air growing tense between them once more. Benvolio picks at his cuticles; Rosaline bunches the skirt of her nightdress in her fists and looks at her feet.

Neither knows how to proceed.

Benvolio knows he must be the one to act. He is the husband, he is the one with experience in these matters. Yet he suddenly feels as green as a stripling boy, awkward and unsure.

“Rosaline.”

She is so unaccustomed to hearing him address her by her given name that her gaze immediately snaps to his face, eyes wide.

Her lips are slightly parted, plump and rather inviting, so he simply dives in, saying a silent prayer that she will not push him away.

To his astonishment, her hands come up and clutch his shirt. She makes an almost inaudible whimper in the back of her throat and returns his kiss, opening her mouth wider, meeting his tongue with hers.

“Capulet…” he breaks away and gasps, unable to contain his surprise at her passion. He takes another second to search her face, then fully wraps her in his embrace, kissing her with everything he has, momentarily forgetting to go slow and take care with her.

Her hand strays up into his hair and he groans, which only causes her fingers to grab and pull a handful of his hair. And that makes him groan once more, louder.

He pulls her to her feet without breaking the kiss, and begins moving towards the bed, his hands beginning to roam.

She clings to him, her head swimming, allowing herself to surrender to sensation, pushing away rational thought, pushing away reservation, pushing away fear. Then his hand comes to land on her breast. When she stiffens for a split second, he drops it and mutters an apology.

“Bloody hell,” she swears, angry at herself for acting like a silly girl, especially when he is clearly – and astoundingly – trying very hard to make this experience as good as he can for her.

He could have just come in and done his duty with no preamble or emotion. But he didn’t; he is _trying._

And for that, her heart opens a fraction. For that, she takes his hand and puts it back on her breast.

He curses and moves his lips to her neck, causing a whole new set of sensations to flood through her. Between his hand gently caressing her breast and his lips sucking at her neck, Rosaline is finding it difficult to keep her feet.

Benvolio seems to sense this and eases her down onto the bed, stretching out beside her, leaning on one elbow to gaze down at her. “I don’t believe I have ever remarked upon your beauty, Capulet,” he says.

“I don’t believe you have, Montague,” she replies.

“You are indeed lovely, but…”

“But?” Her brow furrows and she automatically prepares herself for the coming barb.

“But I do not believe I have seen you looking more beautiful that you do right now,” he finishes. Her eyes are slightly glazed, her lips kiss-swollen and parted, and small escaped tendrils of her hair are curling around her face in a fetching disarray. Not only that, her sweet floral scent is invading his senses, making him feel a little drunk.

“Oh,” she softly exclaims. “Thank you.”

He drops his head and kisses her again, lightly nipping, almost playful, making her chase his lips with hers until she growls and grabs his head, holding him in place.

Rosaline likes kissing and is quite pleased to learn that Benvolio is an excellent kisser. She thinks she could spend the rest of the night kissing him, if only…

If only.

As soon as she relaxes her grip on his head, he moves fully over her and his lips trail to her neck once more, having previously enjoyed the response it drew from her.

She sighs and lightly squirms, her body wanting things that her brain cannot yet define. He moves his lips lower, kissing the swell of her breast above the neckline of her nightgown, and she grabs his shirt, tugging on it.

He is relieved to find her much more responsive and _participatory_ than he was expecting, yet he feels he should still take her inexperience into consideration. He lifts his head. “If you wish to keep your nightdress…”

Her brow furrows. “Why would I do that?”

“I simply thought that… you might wish to remain mostly covered… since it’s your first time…” he hesitantly explains.

“Are you going to be wearing anything?”

“I was not planning on doing so.”

She lifts her chin, ever the proud Capulet. “Then I will forego my nightdress,” she declares.

Her bold, haughty demeanor makes him smile. No shrinking violet, his wife. There is no way she will let him have the upper hand, no matter how ridiculous the stakes.

“Very well,” he answers, then pointedly lifts up onto his knees, whips his shirt off over his head, and tosses it carelessly aside.

She pushes him, her palm landing squarely in the center of his chest, and manages to sit up. Her hand lingers on his chest, and she stares at it, fascinated by the warm and solidly-muscled torso so close.

He places his hand over hers and presses it more firmly to his chest. “You can touch. I don’t mind.” When she notices how he is smirking at her, she jerks her hand away and scoots out from under him.

She stands and faces him, her fingers dancing at her sides. “You first,” she blurts, needing to stall to drum up more courage.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, least of all from his Capulet wife, Benvolio immediately rises and quickly rids himself of his trousers.

Rosaline stares. She stares to the point where she knows she is being inappropriate, but she doesn’t care.

“Capulet?” he finally prompts.

“How is that…?” she shakes her head. “Never mind.”

He laughs, then proudly strides towards her, clearly unbothered by his nakedness. He extends his hand and she simply looks at it. He wiggles his fingers and tilts his head, and she relents, placing her hand in his and letting him gently tug her towards him.

Her heart is pounding and she is, in fact, more nervous than she’s ever been, but she’ll be damned if she’ll let _him_ see that.

He releases her hand and moves his to her waist. “May I?” he asks, surprising her once more with his thoughtfulness. She swallows and nods, and he begins lifting her dress, his eyes locked onto hers.

He can see how rapidly she is breathing, but isn’t sure if it is anxiety, arousal, or a combination of both. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers.

In response, she reaches down, grasps the fabric of her gown, and quickly pulls it the rest of the way off. She haughtily stands before him, as bare as he.

Now it is his turn to stare. He has seen plenty of naked women and is familiar with all their variations. In the past, he has favored petite, waif-like, doe-eyed girls who gaze up at him with practiced adoration. Being met with his tall wife who has a body strengthened by her work as a servant, who meets and holds his gaze with a challenge in her large, dark eyes, has him questioning his prior preferences.

“You are beautiful. Truly,” he says. Before she can respond, he steps towards her and catches her in a tight embrace, kissing her until she moans into his mouth. He tears his lips from hers and guides her back down onto the bed.

He slides in beside her, kisses her once more, then says, “I’m going to touch you.” He skims his palm over her flat stomach, then moves it higher, testing the waters. She has thus far been willing, but he moves slowly in case she changes her mind. When his hand closes over her bare breast, she gasps. So he kisses her again, since that seems to be good at helping her relax.

His thumb lightly rubs across her nipple and she squeaks, clutching his shoulders.

“Was that… a good noise or a… bad one?” he murmurs against her lips.

“Do that again,” she whispers.

“Good noise,” he decides, then does as he has been bidden.

She gasps and squirms, moving her leg to slide along his.

Benvolio removes his hand and Rosaline makes a quiet disappointed sound. It is quickly followed by another gasp when his mouth claims the place his hand has just vacated.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her hands fluttering over his shoulders and back, not seeming to know where to land.

His hand moves lower, skimming over her stomach once more to land on her thigh. When she doesn’t protest, he slides his hand inward. “Will you part your legs for me, Capulet?” he asks in a low voice, his fingers gliding over the incredibly soft skin of her inner thigh.

Again, she is taken off guard by his thoughtfulness. She can’t seem to find any words, so she simply moves her legs, opening herself up to him. Choosing to trust him.

He moves his lips to her other breast and her hand finds his head, threading her fingers through his hair. When his intrepid fingers slide against her warm center, she gasps. When they find _that_ spot, she cries out.

His fingers slip lower, and he is very nearly shocked at how wet she already is. He was not expecting that at all, but is pleased to discover that his efforts have not been in vain. He gently begins to push a finger inside, and she stiffens.

“This won’t hurt,” he assures her with a kiss. “My finger isn’t big enough to…”

“Oh… _oh_ ,” she replies, angling her hips into his hand, her body moving of its own accord. He slides his finger in and out a few times, then moves back up to where he knows she will receive the most pleasure.

She arches and grabs his shoulders, then his sides, not yet daring to move her hands lower. But she wants to touch everywhere at once, wants to be touched everywhere at once. She just _wants._

If Rosaline were capable of rational thought, she would seriously question her sanity right now, thinking she has surely gone quite mad because it is Benvolio – _Benvolio Montague_ – driving her to this point of pure, hedonistic need. Surely she has lost her mind if this man, this husband she never wanted, is bringing her this kind of pleasure.

Instead she just lets go and gives in to what her body wants. It wants him. She bravely slides her hand down his back. It is trembling slightly, either from nerves or desire, but when it lands on the rounded cheek of his backside he lightly jumps in surprise.

“That’s good,” he murmurs into her neck, his fingers still working at the apex of her thighs. He can hear her breathing growing fast and shallow, and she arches again under his ministrations. Hoping to encourage her, he moves his hips, pressing his erection against her hip. “So is that,” he adds.

“Oh,” she breathes, not sure what to do with that information, not sure if she is to touch him there or press her hip against it or do nothing.

He answers her question for her, momentarily removing his hand from her to guide hers to his shaft, his long fingers wrapping hers around his length, showing her how to move her hand on him while he distracts her with more kisses.

He groans at how quick a study she is, and soon he is almost regretting his choice to have her touch him. “I… I need…” he huskily stammers, and thankfully, she understands, loosening her grasp as he nudges his knees between hers until her thighs are framing his hips.

She looks up at his face, into his eyes, and sees a myriad of emotions there. Desire, concern, and something else – tenderness? – all seem to be swirling around in his blue eyes. She reaches up and places her palm on his cheek. “Go,” she prompts.

“Try to relax… it will hurt less. So I understand,” he says.

“Kiss me then,” she replies.

He nods once, then positions himself at her entrance before claiming her lips with his. He kisses her deeply and thoroughly, and when it feels like she is melting beneath him, he thrusts his hips forward, swiftly breaking through her maidenhead.

“Ah!” she gasps, suddenly tilting her head back and nearly knocking him in the nose with her chin.

“Rosaline,” he grits out, dropping his forehead against hers. “Relax, Wife,” he gently adds.

His face is tight and his eyes are closed, and it dawns on her that this cannot be easy for him either. She takes a couple of slow, deep breaths, waiting for the stinging to die down, then tilts her face up and pecks his lips. “I’m all right,” she whispers.

“We can stop now if you wish,” he says, his voice still rough, but soft. “We have met the requirement.”

She opens her eyes, unable to even comprehend what he has just suggested. “Do you… do you _want_ to—”

“God, no!” he groans. “But I will… if it is what you wish.”

His face looks pained, and the fact that he would make such an offer in the state that he is in further opens her heart. “I wish to continue,” she says, then kisses him again, more than a peck, enough to let him know that she is in earnest.

Benvolio moans into Rosaline’s mouth as he slowly, gently slides his hips back, then forward again. She sharply inhales as she is still tender, and he pauses again.

“Go,” she says, repeating her earlier command. “I am well.”

“Thank you,” he exhales, and resumes his thrusts, still slowly. He closes his eyes again, reveling in the feel of her, how she tastes, how she smells. He ducks his head to her neck once more, placing a sucking kiss to the side, right where it meets her shoulder. She gasps, and he thinks she will be grateful for her lovely dark skin come morning as it will help disguise the bite marks he is surely leaving.

She hooks a leg around his hip and he groans again. He hunches his shoulders to reach one of her breasts with his mouth and she mewls.

He feels himself coming dangerously close, but knows there is nothing for it; not this time. Had she been even a little more experienced, he would have felt more comfortable bringing her to full completion with his hand or even his mouth first, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her any more than he already was. Even so, she seems to be enjoying herself now, having moved past the initial pain.

Rosaline lightly whimpers, her eyes widening as new sensations begin creeping up on her, causing her to behave like a wanton. She doesn’t remember wrapping her leg around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. She’s not sure how her hand got into his hair again either. All she knows is her body feels like it is reaching for something wonderful and Benvolio is the only person who can take her there. She tugs his hair, pulling his face back up to hers, wanting – needing – to kiss him.

He growls low in his throat, then thrusts deeply and stills, pulling his lips from hers and allowing his head to drop onto her shoulder.

She can feel his cock pulsing within her, and realizes it is over. He has spent himself into her, but she didn’t reach that unreachable _thing_ her body was pursuing. She exhales heavily, her arms flopping over him in a lazy embrace.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

They both speak at the same time, and he lifts his head.

“What?” they both say.

He gently eases himself out and off of her, rolling to lie beside her. He indicates that she should speak first.

“Thank you,” Rosaline says. “For… for not simply coming in and taking me with no consideration.”

“Oh,” Benvolio replies. “Um, you’re welcome.”

“Why?”

“Why did I try to make the experience pleasurable for you?”

She nods.

He sits up slightly, grabbing the sheets and pulling them up over them. “Well, part of it was that _I_ would not have been able to perform my husbandly duty that way. As you know, I did not want to bed you if you were unwilling.”

She nods again. “And I thank you for that.”

He tilts his head towards her in acknowledgement. “But the main reason is… well, neither of us was given a choice in this. We did not choose to marry; we did not choose to bed. But we are able to choose _how_ we perform these tasks.”

“Trying to make the best of a bad situation?” she asks, laughing a little so he knows she is teasing.

“In a sense,” he allows, grinning. “However, I would venture that it was not _entirely_ bad… was it?”

“No,” she responds. “’Twas quite pleasurable. You are… rather good at kissing.”

He leans over and kisses her just because she said he was good at it, lingering longer than necessary. “I do feel I should apologize,” he says, briefly nuzzling her nose before leaning back again.

“Whatever for? It is your uncle who—”

“You were not thoroughly pleasured, and I am sorry for that,” he interjects.

“Oh. I was… given to understand that it did not matter,” she quietly replies, no longer able to meet his gaze.

“Of course it matters!” he exclaims. “Why do you think people enjoy it? It feels good! For _both_ parties involved!”

Unable to help herself, she starts laughing again. “It did feel good. Eventually,” she finally says. “And before…”

“It is often not as good for the woman the first time,” he informs, in case that was something else about which she was properly informed. “Next time will be better,” he adds without thinking.

“Next time?” she repeats, eyes widening.

He gapes at her for a moment, then says, “Well… yes…” He trails off, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I mean, heirs are expected, and sometimes it takes several tries before…” He sighs, then looks down at her. “I enjoyed our coupling, Capulet,” he admits.

She presses her lips together, then says, “As did I.” She averts her gaze and quietly adds, “And I _would_ like to know what it would feel like to…”

He stares at her profile, blinking in disbelief as he realizes exactly _how_ innocent his wife is. He knows women sometimes touch themselves the way men do, but obviously she has never done so.

He lowers his head and kisses her again. “Next time. I promise,” he says against her lips.

“You can promise such a thing?” she asks, pulling away.

“If you can trust me, then yes, I can promise such a thing,” he assures her. He watches her face as she watches him.

“You may be the only person I can trust right now, apart from my sister,” she answers, the truth of it wedging her heart almost fully open to him.

“At least you have her. I have only you to trust,” he replies with a sad smile. Then he kisses her once more. “I am sorry,” he repeats. “For so much.”

“You are?” she whispers.

“I am sorry you were caught up in this. I am sorry you hate me for no other reason than my name. I am sorry…” he pauses, sighing. “And I am sorry I am not the man you wish me to be,” he says, not looking at her. He flops back, lying down beside her, staring at the ceiling.

“I do not hate you and I do not wish you were him,” she replies, lying beside him. She slowly reaches over and finds his hand with hers, and they simultaneously twine their fingers together. Suddenly, the words come spilling out. “He is… he is nothing to me anymore.” She turns and looks at him. “I know now that if I were with him, I would always come second to Verona. I would much rather be the first priority to a man than second priority to a prince.”

He turns and leans on his side again. He reaches over with his free hand and carefully, hesitantly touches her cheek. “I think I could try to be that man… if you would but allow me.”

Rosaline’s jaw drops open, dumbstruck by his words. “You… you do?”

Benvolio nods, caressing her soft cheek. “I do.”

“Trying to make the best of a bad situation?” she asks again, smiling.

“Is it truly that bad?” he returns, his eyes searching hers.

“No,” she says, her voice slightly awed, as though she is realizing it for the first time. “It isn’t.”

xXx

“Benvolio, what on earth—?” Lord Montague exclaims at the sight of his nephew striding towards him, clad only in a pair of trousers, a bundle in his arms.

Benvolio marches directly over to where his uncle is eating breakfast. He throws the wadded-up sheet from their bed down on the table, right on top of Montague’s plate.

Then he turns and stalks from the room without a word, pleased with his act of defiance as well as his foresight to change the sheets before they went to sleep last night.

“Benvolio!” Montague roars, beside himself with anger.

Benvolio slams the door and makes his way back up to his room to rejoin his sleeping wife.

He locks the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had an idea for a second chapter...

“Do you trust me?”

A week has passed since Benvolio and Rosaline complied with Damiano Montague’s demand to consummate their marriage, and Benvolio has not made any attempt to lie with his wife a second time. Neither can deny that the nature of their relationship has shifted once more, their tentative alliance solidifying into a sort of Us-Against-The-World partnership, even a friendship, but neither wishes to admit that Lord Montague’s invasive demand pushed them there.

So when Benvolio perches beside his wife on the bed and asks her if she trusts him, she startles, looking up from her book, remembering exactly _why_ he had asked her to trust him the previous week.

“I have told you that I do, Husband,” she answers, her mouth going dry. He is looking at her in that _way_ he has, the way that makes her question his sanity as well as her own.

He leans over and gently lifts the book from her hands, thoughtfully marks her page, and sets it on the bedside table. “You are certain?” he quietly presses, his hand closing over hers.

“Montague…” she sighs, but it doesn’t come out quite as reproachfully as she intended. She looks down at their hands and adds, “I would not have said it if I did not mean it.”

He slowly lifts her hand to his lips. “I know,” he replies, then kisses her hand. “It is… one of your more admirable qualities.” He turns her hand and kisses her palm, drawing a soft gasp from her. Such casual touches have become increasingly common, though only when they are in private. But this is the first time he has kissed the palm of her hand, and his moist lips and scratchy-soft beard against the sensitive skin of her palm feels rather intimate.

“Benvolio, please speak your thoughts,” she says. The suspense combine with his tender attention is making her want to crawl out of her skin.

Instead of speaking, he leans forward and kisses her, attempting to convey his thoughts without words. She squeaks in surprise, then relaxes into the kiss, letting the fluttering in her stomach grow and spread as her hands come up to clutch at his vest.

“I was beginning to think you no longer wanted me,” she whispers when his lips move to her neck.

He lifts his head. “What on earth would give you that idea?” he asks, mystified but not angry.

“You have not… touched me since…” she hesitantly explains, feeling her cheeks heat when she realizes she sounds like she _wants_ his attention. Her heart thumps in her chest when she realizes she _does._

He chuckles, then leans forward and softly pecks her lips. “Beloved, you needed time to heal,” he informs.

“Oh,” she responds, feeling rather naïve and foolish. She looks down, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

He strokes her cheek, trailing his fingers down to her chin, which he lifts. “Your innocence is quite becoming, Capulet, I assure you,” he replies. Still lightly holding her chin, he leans forward and kisses her once more. “Besides, I made a promise,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of her mouth. “And you will recall we both confessed to enjoying ourselves last week,” he adds, his voice and eyes both tinged with light mischief before dragging her lower on the bed.

“Oh…” she repeats, but this time it is more of a sigh. She is now lying beneath him, but they are separated by the bedsheets as well as their clothing. He shifts a bit, places a searing kiss on her waiting mouth, then bounces himself up off the mattress and begins stripping.

Rosaline watches with unabashed interest, noting Benvolio’s lean, muscular physique, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. Her eyes are drawn to the line of hair extending downward from his navel and she feels her cheeks heat.

She manages to tear her eyes away before he drops his trousers. She also waits for him to taunt her for staring, waiting for him to ask her if she is enjoying the show or likes what she sees, but he says nothing of the sort.

“You may look all you like,” he says, completely at ease. “You are my wife and… all that I have is yours.” He settles back onto the bed, easing beneath the covers. “Meager though it may be.”

She stares, wondering who this sweet person is that has taken the shape of her husband. Unable to come up with any sort of witty remark or barb, she merely whispers, “Thank you.”

His hand lands on her thigh beneath the blankets and his fingers curl into the fabric of her nightdress, bunching it. He leans down and kisses her, and she is so lost in his kiss that she doesn’t even realize he’s been easing the garment up until she feels his large, warm hand on her skin.

She gasps, but recovers quickly, even helping him remove the gown.

Divested of their clothes, he kisses her again, his hands re-learning the curves and contours of her body. His memory is quite good, as he seems to recall every hidden place that made her gasp and sigh. His lips make their way to her breasts, and he spends some time reacquainting himself with them, licking and sucking until she whimpers.

Then he disappears and she feels nothing but the night air on her naked body, making the little patches of moisture left from his mouth feel cool as they dry.

“Benvolio?” she asks, looking down. He is moving to the end of the bed, looking up at her. “What are you— _doing!_ ” Her question turns into a yelp as she feels herself pulled lower still.

“Trust me,” he answers, his hands sliding up and down her legs a few times. “I am fairly certain you will enjoy this, but if you do not, please tell me and I will cease.”

“What? Benvolio, I… what on earth are you…?” she lifts her head, trying to see what he’s doing down there. Her eyes widen. “You cannot possibly want to – oh!”

His strong hands hold her still as his tongue softly but deliberately flicks out against her center. His touch is gentle, easing her into it, showing her there is nothing to fear.

She squirms and her fingers grasp the sheets beneath her as she attempts to anchor herself.

“Benvolio,” she whispers his name, and he’s never heard it uttered so sweetly from her lips before. Then she moans, and he has to adjust his position to allow his growing erection some more room.

A low hum escapes his throat as his tongue circles and sweeps. She tastes divine, and he realizes he’s never enjoyed himself doing this quite so much before. The thought makes him lose track of what he is doing for a second, but thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice.

Rosaline has never felt anything like this. Pure pleasure coursing through her. She can’t keep still and small undignified sounds keep escaping her mouth, but she cannot seem to find the need to care. She is chasing that unnamable Something again, and this time she knows she’s going to catch it. Benvolio is going to lead her there.

He promised.

“Ohhh…” she moans, and her hand finds his head, her fingers grabbing his hair. He chooses then to slip a single finger into her and nearly gains a bald patch for his efforts. Undaunted, he adds a second finger and curves them just slightly upward as he moves them in and out of her.

She comes unraveled a moment later, crying out, her hips bucking as her knees try to close on his head. “Stop… stop…” she begs, tugging his hair again.

He relents, lifting his head and pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. He begins crawling up over her, dropping the occasional kiss as he goes, until he reaches her lips.

“Never let it be said that I am not a man of my word,” he comments, looking rather smug.

She lightly slaps his shoulder, but cannot hold back her laughter. “Certainly not, my lord,” she says, watching, puzzled, as he rolls to the side. Her eyes scan his body for a moment, and she says, “Do you not wish to…?” she leaves the question hanging, not sure how to even phrase what she wished to ask.

"Oh, I do,” he answers. “But only if you wish to as well.”

Rosaline stares at him for a second, as if this is the first time she is truly seeing him. The _real_ Benvolio, not the Montague heir with whom she was forced into marriage. He is kind. Honest. Considerate.

He is a good husband. And a good kisser. A good _lover._

“Well… it seems only fair,” she says by way of compromise.

He rolls to his side. “Our first… encounter was decidedly one-sided,” he points out, but he is already moving closer, his hand sliding over her stomach, his lips feathering over her shoulder and neck. “But perhaps, if we are fortunate…” he murmurs, catching her lips with his before she can ask him what he means.

He positions himself between her legs once more, and she can feel him against her thigh, thick, heavy, and hot. She shifts, searching him out with her hip and leg, then lightly pressing against it.

“You are always a surprise,” Benvolio quietly says, then reaches down between them and slots himself into position.

Rosaline finds herself unconsciously tensing up in preparation for his invasion, her body growing rigid and still. “Benvolio,” she says, not sure what she actually needs.

He kisses her once more. “It will not hurt this time,” he reassures her. Then, before she can question him, he drops his hips down and forward, sliding into her with ease.

“Ohhhh…” she half-moans, half-sighs. There is no pain this time, and she feels decidedly full in a very nice way with him seated inside her.

“Better?” he asks, his voice slightly strained.

“Yes,” she breathes, reaching up to run her fingertips through his beard. He turns his face into her hand, actually seeking out her touch, then kisses the base of her thumb.

“You are so beautiful,” Benvolio whispers, then begins to move in long, slow strokes.

Rosaline pulls his face down to hers, seeking out his kisses, beginning to lose herself once more as the pleasure builds again.

Her hips begin to move in concert with his, lifting to meet him with each thrust.

“Good,” he grunts, sliding one hand down her side to grasp her hip, his fingers lightly digging into the firm but pliant flesh of her backside. His lips latch onto her neck, bestowing sucking kisses there, moving around until he finds the right spot.

“Ah…” she sighs, and he knows he’s found it. He lightly bites the spot, then licks it, making her whimper and squirm beneath him. “Oh… it’s… can it…? Again?” she gasps out, and he lifts his head to see her eyes widen in surprise.

Rosaline didn’t realize that this was possible. To chase – and catch – that same pleasure twice in an evening. It seems too much, but she still craves it. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders as she feels herself tip over the edge for the second time. “Oh!” she cries out, unaware that her husband is watching her with interest.

The sight of her climaxing beneath him spurs on Benvolio’s own completion, and he drives deep, then stills as he releases into her. A low groan rumbles forth from his throat, and a second later, he slumps over her, his face pressed into her neck.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding him against her for a few moments while their breathing and heartbeats slow to normal.

“I understand now,” Rosaline says just as Benvolio rolls off of her.

“Understand what?” he asks, pulling her over to cuddle to his side, glad to no longer have to pretend he doesn’t enjoy the feel of her lithe, lush body against his, even in rest. He reaches down and pulls the covers over them.

“What the appeal is in the act of coupling,” she says into his chest, still shy of so openly talking about such things.

“I did say it was to be enjoyed, did I not?” he replies, kissing the top of her head.

“Aye, you did, my lord,” she answers. “And while I know you would not lie to me, there are some things that simply must be experienced before they can be believed.”

“Well, now you have ‘experienced’ twice,” he says with a chuckle.

She lightly slaps his chest, but she is laughing as well. “Go to sleep, Husband,” she says, her eyes suddenly heavy.

“Sweet dreams, Wife,” he answers, and reaches over to extinguish the candles at the bedside.

xXx

“Capulet…”

Rosaline scrunches into the blankets. She feels lethargic and sleepy, and wonders why her husband is trying to rouse her at such an ungodly hour.

“The sun is barely up,” she mumbles. “Go away.”

“Rosaline,” Benvolio says, lightly caressing her cheek, then down to her shoulder. “I have a surprise for you.”

She peeks an eye open. “What?”

“If I told you it would no longer be a surprise,” he answers, rolling his eyes like it is obvious.

“Do I need to get out of bed?” she asks, cuddling in deeper.

“Yes, Wife, you do,” he says. “There is something I must show you.”

“Can it not wait?”

“You are the most contrary woman I have ever met,” he sighs, but there is no real ire in his tone. “Only you would complain about receiving a surprise.” In truth, he has grown to appreciate, even enjoy the pricklier aspects of her personality. Because they are the things that make her uniquely Rosaline.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling down at her until she speaks. “What?” she demands, giving him an incredulous look.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Here,” he offers her dressing gown, holding it up for her.

“Turn your head,” she says. Neither of them bothered to get dressed again, so she is still completely naked beneath the covers.

“Impossible,” he mutters, but obeys. Mostly. “Get dressed,” he says, then, realizing it sounds like an order, adds, “please.”

xXx

“Is this really necessary?” Rosaline asks, once again trying to remove the blindfold Benvolio placed over her eyes.

“I have told you three times now that it is,” he insists, grabbing her hands and holding them as they bump along in the carriage. “Be still, Capulet.”

“How much further?”

“Nearly there.”

Less than a minute later, the carriage rolls to a stop. He climbs out first, then reaches up and lifts her down rather than having her attempt to navigate the narrow ladder blind.

“Can I take this off now?” she asks.

“Is it the surprise to which you object or the blindfold?” he asks, curious.

“The blindfold. I feel like I am being abducted,” she answers.

“Oh… I am sorry. I did not intend—”

She lightly tugs his hand and he stops. “Benvolio,” she says. “My trust in you extends beyond our… marriage bed. I simply do not enjoy being deprived of my sight.”

“Well, just a few more steps and it shall be restored,” he answers, carefully maneuvering her where he wants her. “Are you ready?” he asks, just to needle her a little more.

“I am not going to answer that question,” she replies.

A second later, he removes her blindfold and she finds herself staring at her family’s home. There are workmen milling about.

“Benvolio…” she gasps, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

“It took some doing, but I managed to convince your uncle,” he says.

“This… this is ours?” she asks, looking at him like he is her personal savior.

“We’ll be able to move in by the end of the week,” he answers. “It won’t be _completely_ ready by then, but enough of the house will be habitable, so I—mm!”

Rosaline throws her arms around Benvolio’s neck, kissing him with abandon. He quickly recovers from his shock, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his neck, hugging him tightly. “This was a wonderful surprise.”

He smiles, and it dawns on him that while he initially got the idea to try to convince Lord Capulet to give them this house as a means to simply get out from under his uncle’s roof (and thumb), seeing Rosaline truly happy for the very first time is a much better reason.

“I cannot wait to tell my uncle,” he says into her hair, a wicked grin on his face.

Rosaline laughs then, and Benvolio decides it is a sound he needs to draw forth from her more often.


End file.
